


A Dance on a Knife's Edge

by FromAnonymousToZ



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Fighting, Gen, Resets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAnonymousToZ/pseuds/FromAnonymousToZ
Summary: How many times have they done this.Reset after reset.
Kudos: 4





	A Dance on a Knife's Edge

The underground is silent, the world is empty and quiet and golden light streams catching dust in it’s arms. The gilded hall glows as they face him down, his hands rest in his pockets, his head tilted at an awkward angle, his eye sockets half lidded almost lazily. 

How many times have they done this. 

Reset after reset. 

He keeps his promise, one reset after another, he fills in his part of the story when he’s meant to, even if it means this futile fighting. 

The sound of a soul shattering echoes in both of their ears, does it matter who’s it is?

They’ll just end up here again. 

They’re the only ones who remember. 

Yet somehow, they keep making the same mistakes, over and over, and they end up here again. 

It’s a dance on the edge of a knife, a fight for his life, if not for long. 

He’s gotten stronger since the first time they fought.

Every reset leads to him learning. 

He’s come close to correcting the flaws in the timeline, sometimes he even manages to shift them out of the story. 

As the resets go on he gets a firmer grip on the timeline. 

Between sudden shifts in story and time he’s gotten better at this. 

What was once a loose grip on reality twisting it here and there has grown to near omnipotent control over time and space. 

He has had an eternity to practice and he’ll have an eternity more. 

Be it in these golden halls or somewhere on the surface, be it in this body or his brother’s. 

Whether his magic runs red or blue or any color in-between, 

There is no way for this dance to end. 

He just keeps trying, getting stronger until he can finally act as a counter balance to them. 

Their battle is for eternity, he tries to keep his grip on the timeline, he tries to hold it steady, but he was always meant for twisting it. With every reset they warp it further from it’s original course, but when he can force their grip he reorganizes it the way it should be until they can find a way back in. 

When did they start this? 

Did they ever start it?

Will it ever end? 

How many resets has it been? 

A million? Two million? A handful of billions? 

Did it matter if neither of them kept count?

Who had won? 

Why couldn't they both have won? 

Had one of them existed if the other had not?

If they had existed separately would they be trapped in the same loop? With out someone to oppose them would they have been gods of their timelines? 

Would they have been content to simply live? 

He would have. 

He would have done anything to forget, to just live as life was given to him. 

What they would have done is a different matter. 

When they fight he has a better grasp on reality. He holds it twix bony fingers. 

He slouches almost boredly, hands in pockets as the world flickers dark. 

They dart forward wielding a knife, he steps away from their swing, casually knocking the blade away with a gesture. He sidesteps and hops uninterested avoiding the flashing silver. With a wave of his hand projectiles fly through the air piercing once, twice, three times. Ozone crackles and light blazes searing white. 

A soul shatters. 

They are at it again. 

He moves indifferently, lazily, their swiping arks easily evaded. The world folds around him and up is down, he’s walking on the walls, they’re trying to keep up, bones stagger, he disappears as their knife comes slicing towards him only to reaper a few feet away. 

He disappears and reappears, the crackle of blasters like music fills the air, blue and white and fire as cold as ice.

He cares not for their threats and hideous words. 

A single hand emerges from his pocket and they wince ahead of time. 

Thrown from one wall to the next with a twitch of fingers he commands the blasters with only the gentlest of waves, they strike out hoping to feel the bite of bone beneath their blade, instead they cut through empty air. Their hair whirls as they tilt there head, he stands behind them smiling, the bones ripple into existence. 

With fluid movements they dart forward. 

A soul shatters. 

They are at it again. 

He commands reality and space as if it were an extension of him, they can only force it to move as their soul shatters, a catalyst. 

His eye blazes. 

The world shifts and swirls, vertigo settling in their gut. 

In their blade he has two reflections based on the way they tilt the steel. 

His eye is blue and it blazes with cold fire as skulls of creatures long since gone rise behind him, his hands in his pockets as he glares forward defiantly. 

His eyes are white, and his arms spread in a welcoming gesture. 

They have two reflections in their blade too, but he cares not to look at it, there is nothing to look for, two long ago ceased being separate entities and were instead one, acting as extensions of the other. 

Who cares what name they use. 

Who cares what name they call him. 

It will always be him. 

And it will always be them. 

Until the end of time and beyond. 


End file.
